"deriving" poems
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government
mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts
degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed
protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia
bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,
opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination
and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
Thankful for his collar
At my collarbone
His body
My Temple
Not my weakness
But strength
Deriving pleasure
When I kneel
Before him
And I stand
At his command
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
The strike of the cane, with the rush of pain.
Flooding you with such emotion,
Such satisfaction in the face of the man you lay with.
Though the pain is not the reasoning for your tears.
No. The tears show your sheer enjoyment. Many won't understand, but your love is not for them to understand anyway. His actions deriving from you deepest wishes.
Are for you alone.
Many long to be one with another, you have found it though. In the purest way. Equally giving into each other, willingly giving away your freedom to one another.
Ropes tighten as you feed each others fire.
A fire burning so bright untill the two of you
No longer can.
Though let it be known. Your love will clear many misunderstandings for the open minded ones. The love and need for pain. Solely for each others understanding.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
Dear, let me tenderize you like meat slap the silliness from heat bubbling bubbling bubbling to a boil.
Dear, let me technically arouse you by letting each word escape like exasperation, a depletion of the senses as every finger or pressure point examines your body from head-to-toe.
Dear, let me be no longer ashamed to touch or hold you close, let our breathing and beating submerge into higher thinking.
Incinerating flames that lick the grate.
Dear, let me dive deep into the crevice of your brain, all mushy grey matter, all the same.
Dear, let me slice it open and **** out all the juices, licking licking licking each curve and crevice,
My supple pink snake-like tongue reaching deeper deeper deeper into your mind.
Dear, let me sink into your reality, bit by bit, and piece by piece until cohesiveness lays its eggs inside the deep hole within you.
Dear, let me scratch the surface, trading dimes for dust and pecs for fluff.
Let me swim in the depths of your hectic personality.
Let me get to know you and all your originality.
Let me breathe in your values and slurp up your mature decisions.
Let me caress your life like two bulbous lights that hang from the existence of time.
Let me illuminate you, serenade you, quiz you while ********* your sense of self-esteem.
Dear, let me dream your dreams.
Dear, let me sink my ***** mind games into your wet social brain.
Don’t let the pressure get to you.
Passion may play a key part in the sway!
Let me suckle your sweet thoughts, play with your deriving initiatives.
Let me hold your ideas in the sweat of my thighs, burning with desire to see myself through cobalt eyes.
Let me feel the hot ***** of your ethical intentions and clear apparitions.
Let me analyze your prerogatives and **** with your distribution methods.
Dear, let me fiddle with your political views, (in the “other room”) and tickle your soft solutions on creating a world of doom.
Let me ****** your sustainability, flirt with your progressive mindset, and squeeze your plump ambitions until they burst!
Dear, let me push gently on your sensitive issues with your parents until they become less apparent.
Let me stroke your disagreements with foreign policy until they shriek with mercy!
Let me take you further and touch your blind senses to a pink paranoia of retentive defensive pretenses.
Let me cuddle and snuggle your sense of self-worth and pleasure your brain with mind-bending words.
Dear, let me dance with your intelligence
until we sink into oblivious mind-sex bliss…….
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Lamentation; infelicity through neurotransmitters
Passing fleetly; swift but disturbed
Grids of brainwaves for the degraded
Overhead LED view is negroided
Chapter 1 Migraines;
A klaxon that grains into migraine
From there on out, strolling convulsion lane
Deriving from deception; antibodies start to lead loosely
Throe after throe I choose not to fuss
Laceration in hemikrania is conversing with the rest of my body,
Frequent as days turn nightly
I host the severe megrimly
Chapter 2 Vomiting;
A horendous bile builds up in my throat
Moaning like a ghoul; I banish the gloats
Disgorging from nothing, Heaving and heaving the dry
Although I force myself not, all the nosh turns into emit rye
Vital fluid very crimson soon came
From the cranium, I dislose, head pain
Frequent as the waves harsh blows
I host a ***** hose
Chapter 3 Tumor;
A neoplasm underneath I've found out
Unvisible but there; my flesh will start swelling undoubt
Below I feel like a mutant
All putant and disformed
Like globular liquids dripping from sewage waste
As long as I can still haste
Crescendo and surge won't ado
Frequent as traffic builds a rush hour
I host a cyst that is sour
Chapter 4 Deaf;
An absense of all frequencies
I daze everso daily;
Feeling like an earless statue; sound unaccompanied
Missing the wind's howls that ululate,
Clamors and bellows that spoliate
I can't sight the same verbiage
Without sonancy to inflicit, I see one big mirage
Frequent as birth enfolds
I host a soundless toll
Chapter 5 Brain Cancer;
A malignant fate told today
Disease spreading like a machine,
Programmed to enquire all it knows
A gruesome and hateful dose;
Withering casually away
Grown apart of, I'm the prey
As we hunt the beasts'
An invisible naked eye is poaching
Frequent as a house infested
I host a cancerous clothing
Chapter 6 Death;
A termination soon to unfold
I am as finished and ruined as story told
Biological function ending
Senescence through spending
User maat I haven't seen all wanted
Alas I am greatful for what has been daunted
Frequent as a death anew
I host a dissolution
My evolution; through.
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
He laughs in pairs
And appeared without cares
Surrounded by mares
And the emptiness wears
She laughed in three's
Long gone before she leaves
In a pattern she weaves
Consistently, not to displease
Together, their laughs came in fours
Deriving somewhere deep within their cores
And slipping their hands inside doors
To leave when they wanted more
Alone she filled her universe with patterns
To clear through all the dark matter
Climbing to the highest rung of this latter
She learned to separate all the clatter
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
-o-0-o-
With my two eyes closed, the third sees beyond the edge of the horizon.
Keeping us within its sight, unopposed.
In the center of the energy, I experience an alternate path that has not been disclosed.
Unending, undivided.
You are not alone, this symphony plays for us both, and this Universe we interpret will provide it.
Keep digging, diving, deriving, speaking, seeing, hearing, feeling, believing, sensing.
Unrelenting, still unconditional, yet undeniable, so undefinable, and indescribable...
Yet Loving
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
Love is a roller-coaster with volatile emotions emerging from within.
To deny its existence will inevitably cause irrefutable sorrow guiltier than a sin.
Tis’ is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Oh, the wise words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, how you enlighten us from afar.
An unfathomable angst intertwined with a euphoric state of passion.
Caged with inaction yet stupefied by its glorious reaction.
This volatility is not confusion, you see.
I am witnessing myriad waves of emotions emerging from the abyss within me!
Is it true? Could it be?
Has my unconscious decided to compose a poetic tragedy out of me?
Triggering aloofness and indifference to the goodness it perceives?
Have I become too jaded to feel real love literally?
This tender feeling deriving from my soul,
Yearns to journey beyond the engrained barb-wired pine road.
However, the universe continues to reverse the roles.
Now it's apathy that causes the heartache of this man’s soul.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Looking into those blazing eyes
Some flickers of cool steady studying
Worse is the latter
Unwavering,for this course to hold
No shifting,fidgeting
Deriving a strange feeling of...pride?Excitement?
Depends
Compassion?Reconsideration?
Had they known better!
Pain is ultimate-humane
Looking into the growing spherical cumulations,
obscuring vision and then dripping.
Slowly.Burning.
Hey!With a bolt!
No way!
No way back
Brushing the dirt,
turning around,walking away.
It was worth.
Head up. Thumb up.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:37 AM UTC
I'm bending at an impossible angle.
Over backwards,
to appease such erroneous behavior.
An implausible feat,
to gain a few meager feet.
Eye contact
As our bodies touch.
Once again,
I've become the malleable traitor.
Bending over backwards,
placating your itchy trigger finger.
That's why I'll take you back.
Oh no, that's the price I must pay.
With nothing else to give.
I'll spread my confession.
I could almost taste the anger,
lingering on my tongue.
A paper thin relationship,
ripped with a flick of the wrist.
I should leave you with nothing,
instead I'm giving you my heart on a silver plate.
Oh no, that's why I'll take you back.
Oh no, that's the price I must pay.
Oh no, it will be alright...
if I give you nothing to shake off...
I'll be alright.
Just have to remember,
your words cut like knifes.
Into my skin, carving lines.
Ownership marks.
MINE
There's several ways to thinking about.
Deriving it according to principles and theories.
Remembering there's tomorrow,
and a day after...
No matter what happens, will you take responsibility?
Oh no, that's why I'll take you back.
Oh no, that's the price I must pay.
Oh no, it will be alright...
Fading into a blue ball of anxiety...
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Give me stairs
To attain some lofty pinnacle
For stairs are sheer simplicity
An elegant solution to reach some apogee
Incapable of failure unlike the
Mechanical complexities deriving from indolence
Presumed superior to the apparent drudgery
Of clambering upward unhurriedly and
Thus assembled ultimately to fail and frustrate my overwrought soul
While archaic stairs continue unwavering ever upwards
Give me stairs
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
(Dedicated to Eric Onyebuchi Jibero)
What an excruciating blow
You have dealt me!
A brute's uppercut offloaded
A smashing hit delivered
Like a monstrous boxer
Desirous of fame
With an amateur to tame
At this one bout too many
Wherein you have hit me below
The belt as a sadist deriving joy
From my anguish
And relish
From my enormous loss
Oh mower,
Nay hewer,
Can't you feel anything?
Can't you see?
Can't you reason for a while
With your prey?
Can't you pause to ponder
Just for a brief moment
So you can take a good decision
Choosing the right tree to fell
Instead of bringing down a mere
Sapling with your obedient saw?
Why deal sweeping blow
On a mere rookie?
Can't you distinguish
Between the ripe and the unripe?
Between the hen and the chick?
But hawks like you can pick
Meat amidst bones as Moses
In a basket amidst bulrushes
Of Nile to spare from Pharaoh's
Infant-eating sword
And in wisdom did you wait
Patiently to visit Methuselah
At the zenith of hoary hair
Master of double standards
Eyes gorged
Conscience seared
Heart cold like frozen chicken
******* dry and drooping
Like a hag's
A ruthless scorpion
That stings even babes
Rampaging ravager
Notorious brigand
Marauding machinery
Eliminating without scruple
Whoever you choose
Whose hireling are you?
God's or Satan's
Or both?
A blank cheque you flaunt
To cash as you wish
But can't you condescend to a negotiating
Table when a mere sapling is marked
For a cutting down?
Being a professional boxer
Long in this senseless trade
You should have seen the heap
Of pain you would leave
In my heart by this cruel blow
Against a budding amateur whom
You have served voracious earth
Whose stomach is a leaking tank.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
With a single wink of an eye
he snapped me out of my conscience
to another strange dimension
where bruises looks like tattoos
and wounds are ridiculously popular
until I am wide awake all alone
feeling god **** sick of him,
realizing that I'm losing pieces of me
bit by bit just to pay the price
of deriving pleasure from pain
because he fooled me
time
and time
again
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
You are the middle of August,
the product of a seasoned summer right before the cold returns.
You are the last chapter of everyone's favorite book:
a hesitant read for fear of an ending, yet all too inviting.
You are the sound of a soft rain's patter against the window
on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
You are the familiar smell of a mother's home-cooked meal.
You are the purples and pinks in the sunset
and you are the reflection of colors on the water.
You are sleeping in until 3pm with nowhere to be.
You are the grin on a middle-schooler's face
when the girl at the dance says yes.
You are the first glass of water to a hangover.
You are the dream that disappointed minds
try to reenter when they awaken.
You are the feeling of freshly cut grass on bare feet.
You are the feel-better kiss
for every cut, scrape, bruise, or bump.
You are the excitement in a child’s eyes on Christmas morning.
You are the first ray of light to peak
from behind the clouds every morning.
You are the feeling of new socks.
You are looking at the moon
when you can swear he’s looking back.
You are the glow from the top of the lighthouse,
guiding sailors home from sea.
You are a memorable conversation with a stranger on the bus,
haunting and ending far too soon.
You are hiding out in a tree after dinner,
imagining belonging to the branches deriving from its core.
You are the joyful “God bless you”
proclaimed by a man on the corner asking for a dollar.
You are a hand to hold when sidewalks are slippery.
You are the warm voice emanating from the warm smile
on a frore wintry night.
You are the comfort of “goodnight”
from a lover’s lips just inches away.
You are the loyalty of a dog when his soldier returns home.
You are the fireflies in a mason jar,
flashing light through a dark room.
You are the best line in the song on repeat.
You are the laugh lines that years of smiles
sketched into the face of an old man.
You are every last bit of good and pure and magic in the world.
And you don’t even know it.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Am not sure when again to soar,
but to soar again, definitely am sure.
A wound to the chest but not enough to prevent my best.
The heart I still have, I shall again chest the open air and pull up my best cos my best yet is to step its foot on the last stair.
Though the wound is living behind a scar, the ground I won't stay because I am a star.
Deriving motivation from the vibration in and around, I'll have to put luggage of the past in the thrash very fast.
Yes, It is impossible to wash away the leopards spots, yet it has nothing to do with its hunting course.
This is staying around for long
but am assuring the world am strong.
Am still the eagle,
refusing to be depressed and forever remain single.
If a story is to be told of a broken person, it wont be of me, cos mine is going to be a courageous lesson.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 7:03 PM UTC
Vindictive viral inception,
Sneaking in my thoughts pretending
ta be the Ego inside o’ me
No!Free! Digo me,
Quickly
WHEN,WHERE,HOW, WHY? come the questions
“No answers” quoth the clouds as they transfigure by.
I am done defending why
I don’t think I need to take my slice of the pie.
Take a look; exclaim ow, oh my
I got a piece of SKELL truth in my eye
Sincerely instead of me, so trickster
this shadow amphetamine
But my light is gone
A denser Vibration I adorn
One of Absorbtion,
no reflection ever
since this inception
…of attachment
…of suffering
…of another love
So in love it tears me apart
So in love it wears my heart
so instead of being asleep
I’m desecrating thoughts, tainting delete.
Making others worry and weep
as I sweep my gaze
From external to internal
infernal extension
referral to station
impatient inflation
we stand together in the dirt o’ the nation
so in love I seem to flirt
So in love I always hurt
I read the text on the screen….and **** NO!
It can’t mean…eye look, I scream.
Shock sets in, while I’m translated in the hug of a friend.
We lock eyes and she knows why…
Darkness sets in and she helps me cry;
tears from near realized fears,
tears from the suffering
desire steers.
My boy is in trouble
I’m in a hurry and on the double
STAND BACK
PLEASE SLACK
this information noose is too tight to bareback…and my throats so t.i.g.h.t I can’t taste the air. This isn’t fair! What a cruel affair to send me into such disrepair.
Mental suffering burns like a flame, so I use cigarette burns to tame
the Pain in my heart…………..fading away.
My body cools off and with a different pain I can face the day.
So often I pray for the day where my loved ones can stay in zion with me, oh wait hypocrisy risin inside o’ me
please state, the ideas deriving me, Caged in my psyche, found the lock, but lost the key.
gotta get outta my mind, gotta get outta my body
opaque and dense, and way late for defense
Wee wait in such suspense for LIFE to dispense, of us and our love.
WhyohWhydotheseideasresideinme, if i leave my body will i be free, they think you justgottado1morethingtosee.
I just hope to god they don't try again. I just can't take that part of the plan....
Please live. and be glad for it.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
clean lines cut shiny wet skin
cold menacing eel eyes meet
a jellybean nose child's sticky fingers,
calculating; deriving the smoothest way
to unfasten Oshkosh suspenders
in a sun-drenched park, with fierce
protectors, and the wrath of an angry God,
one that judges perverse men and protects
innocent children,
but God must be on vacation;
too quickly, aplomb aplenty,
he slithers past the slide where
a trio of blond ringlet drenched heads tantalize
when the boys hop and jump
their curls excitedly bob, mimicking the children's movements.
the man, he waits, tucked
in a leafy green pardah, a veil.
the sun crawls into the clouds;
thunder bellows in the distance,
and like a mercy, a tiny raindrop
hits his eyes, which he has closed
in respect of this jubilant miracle.
the mothers grab their own sticky handed babies
and run for drier places
and safer
though they only heed the rain
and not the man peering from the soaking foliage
flash of lightening.
darkness.
a scream.
silence.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
all my poems are unique general principles
~for Helene Mendelsohn~
“A general principle never comes to life in my mind except by exhibiting itself in various special forms and in
crowds of instances for each form":
R.G. Collingwood
each a construct - an arch-i-texture,
each a crowd of a single instance
special forum, a dialogue differentiation,
a conjugate particle,
forming up, in marching order,
a singular troop, a base case singular,
a soldier especially demanding,
“Of Me, Write, Write”
for within my insight,
a one-off sighting,
one glinting wave reflecting,
its one millisecond exactitude of existence,
reforming unseemly, a new but not!
a seemingly similar shifted shape,
but no wave is a precision repetition,
perhaps a passing familiarity
of its precedents, antecedents,
at best
an instance borrowed and paid back
to the generosity of time
for a fully developed statement of a
general principle,
even a primary secondary textual emendation,
requires a unique naming definition
being born and dead dying while you are blinking,
does not understate absolute value,
a principle exists to give absolution,
so the moments resets,
perpetually,
but its own resolution is n’err forgotten
do you see the crowd of inferences
herein contained?
the principal unique,
poem plucked from passing sun ray,
a tickling hair of a brazen breeze,
one wave, one wave reconstituting a
millennium of preceding lives,
deriving its abbreviated genealogy
of droplets of prior principles
forever reinterpreted
so I gave you back
words you knew
but in a new combination
establishing this poem,
its constituents,
as a unique general principle
there is a prior poem, new, unique
in everything
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
Foaming waves roll in from the sea
And explode into millions of droplets
Creating rainbows
The lone figure on the beach
Observes the endless cycle
Of ebb and flow
Mesmerized by the force of nature
Eating away at the rocks
And cascading back into the sea
Eight-legged ***** and five-pointed stars
Limpets clinging to the rock
Undisturbed by the crashing waters
A dead jellyfish on the beach
Sends odors of decay
Into the nostrils of the only human
Within sight
The cry of the gulls
Disturb the blissful trance
Eyes turned skyward
To watch the winged creatures
Fighting to stay on course
The winds however have no such issues
Unconcerned about the fate of the birds
A determined cry – success
Safety on a ledge
The being on the beach
Seemingly forlorn
Digs wrinkled toes into cool sand
Watching a ship
Sailing off the horizon
Blissful
The rays of the sun on chilled skin
Drinking in the warmth
The clouds above
Playfully chase each other
Never catching up
Not even wanting to
They see no need for competition
Those tufts of white vapor
Just are what they are
And always will be
The being on the beach is
Lost in thoughts
Wondering
Who it is
What it is and why
Deriving comfort
From the tales of the clouds
The sea and the wind
Knowing that its ponderings
Are of no importance
To anyone else
And that it is and always will be
Infinite creation
Bude, July 19th, 2010
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
*Who cares for black and white?
Start from the shades of grey
Sweetest of all surrenders
Believe in imagination.*
In an ideal setting the mind should rush form past to future to merge finally into something called present . However the reality principles follow another path. The thoughts rush from all three domains and we can't make any distinction which comes first or which comes last. In our minds it’s the bizarre flow and rush in the synapses, the chemicals the receptors never in an unidirectional fashion but to and from every nook and corner like a web. I always believed that the imagination is nothing but the extension of reality. Just think how easy the life would be if we didn't have the power to distinguish the reality from imagination. It would be the moment of bliss when every night the psyche would be in unison with the surrounding.Through some means if we could break that thin ice layer defining the boundary of real and imaginary; the mind would have a different face. What if the imagination could give the same intensity of the perception (like hallucination, the luxury of few lucky ones) in the mind of all the individuals with simple the stimulus of thought? When I think about the dinner at French restaurant with the fine quality wine and if taste buds could sense them then the world would be sane. Some say sanity is the idealized fiction. By all the permutation and combination, deriving from my insanity, I came to a conclusion that the world is waiting to end that fine line - tripod of mind in unison .I dun think it takes much to ask!
Well just a thought …
-PS
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
I love how you draw me in with
The mysterious element that is your charm,
Serenading me with beautiful melodies.
The river flowing from your lyrics,
Drowning me in sweet, addictive passion.
Deriving a soft, storm of tears
And as your soft, sultry voice hits the last note.
You reach across to wipe them away,
Caressing my face with your gentle touch,
Reassuring me that everything will be okay.
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 Glenn McCrary
(All rights reserved)
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 1:34 AM UTC
For G.S.L.
1.
Lover:
Write, we must of the moons we spent
Weaving our alien languages together
Deriving meaning from each other
by what it meant for us
to be home in our shell.
Words we've bound each other with
With histories of our forefathers,
How we delved in the intricacies of the mind
Carefully, and as surely as the waves
Caressing the shores from distant seas.
Coupled with the cresting of the wave,
An ocean's promise lies in wait.
To you I am like the soil that does not empty
Its thirst for answers from the rain.
Yet you cannot give me access to your inner paths
So instead, I have knelt down in silence
and cupped your hermit house to my ear.
You have found speech for words you cannot say.
2.
Beloved:
I am like the shallow portion
of the sea where you can clearly
observe the rocks and stones
That cut, as well as the coral
that thrive Like fiery coals attracting fish.
We are of different tongues,
Yet despite the separateness
Our strangeness connected us to each other.
You have raised old foundations
And pulled the sea to come to me.
There i knelt on uneven sands
Confident that your own voice
Will lead us to the birthing dawn.
Now it is not just the sea that divides us
but the very same wildness, that impetuosity
that gleamed at dawn, Which led me to you.
Where now is the cradle
for the pearl of the night?
How you have drifted away
I cannot know.
Birthed from sand, Foundations crumble.
Your words are carried away with the rising
Of the tides. Numbing the island in me
Leaving a mark visible only in old maps,
Which sunk the moment you left.
On the very same shore
I see you searching still.
- 13 November 2015
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
*********
When I was traveling in the train,
With no strain on my brain,
Only peeping through the window,
To have a look of nature.
The flying birds, the grazing cows,
The race of trees in opposite direction,
The green green fields, the great mountains,
Lovely ponds and walking rivers.
The muddy huts and the children playing,
That was all that I could see,
My soul went somewhere else,
And I was thinking, what is life?
The gift of God, or the curse of devil,
Life is to enjoy or to suffer,
Many answers floated in my mind,
But the journey finished with answers incomplete.
Thereafter, I bombarded this question,
to each and every person I met.
A philosopher told, Life is sorrow,
A Scientist told, it’s an invention.
It’s a game answered the player.
No, it is a play, told the actor.
I went to a sage to get the answer,
Devotion is life, I was told.
Life is an ambition and dream,
Answered rich and cultured youth,
But the other youth not agreed,
Because he believes, it’s struggle.
Life is a chance, said the gambler,
No, its dance of happiness and pain,
Answered the classical dancer,
No, Life is Renovation, told the Archeologist.
Life is knowledge, said the teacher.
Life is thought, said the thinker.
“Life is a matter of self realization”,
It cannot be defined, defined the absent minded professor.
I met a roadside preacher,
That’s poor little creature,
Totally filled with confusion,
Said, ‘Life is an illusion’.
I asked this question to the driver,
Who picks me daily for the school?
He said, Life is like a bus,
Running on the roads of time.
So many answers, all were right,
But all were somewhat incomplete.
So it was difficult to compile,
And get the answer as a whole.
I keep on thinking all the time,
Deriving the answers as solving equations.
At last, I concluded as a whole,
That Life is Hope and Hope is Life.
******************
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC